I love my daughter, and could use some advice on how to help her through a traumatic event
My daughter started moaning and my wife started crying, so I knew that it was time to get out of bed. My head spun as I swung to my feet. I hated waking up at 3:30 a. m. Kylie reached across the bed and grabbed my wrist hard enough to shoot pain up my arm. She didn’t say a word. “I know,” I whispered. “I’m scared, too.” I grasped her wrist with my other hand. “It never gets any less terrifying.” I pried away from her talon-like grip. It felt like I was abandoning a drowning woman. I threw on a pair of sweatpants and wandered dazedly down the hall. The dappled moonlight was barely strong enough to illuminate the path in front of me, but the moaning sounds made it painfully easy to find my way to my daughter’s bedroom. I paused by the door. I didn’t want to see what was inside. But I knew I had to. I softly pressed against the wood. The smell assaulted me before I’d cracked it more than an inch. Sweet, putrid, rotting meat was infused with a tincture of formaldehyde. I almost stopped my gag reflex. But a chunk of the meatloaf from dinner rode a wave of gastric acid up my esophagus and lodged in my nasal cavity. Fuck. I’d have to take care of it later. I reached for the dimmer switch and gently cast a low light over the room. My daughter’s rotting corpse lay on her bed. She was in a bad state by now; the months had not been good to her. I didn’t attempt to stem the flow of tears as I approached. How could I? Half of her scalp had sloughed off, taking her beautiful black curls with it. The slick, white skull beneath was covered in blood and grime. One eye had been reduced to jelly; it quivered in her socket as she let out the long, low moan. The pink dress we’d buried her in was now stained a deep brown, but it thankfully hid her shattered torso. The meat had nearly disappeared from her left leg, but the right one was still covered in gray, parchment-like rotting flesh. She lifted her arm. The motion caused her limb to break in half at the elbow. The skin on her torn appendage split open as it hit the mattress, revealing white, decaying muscle underneath. It was just a matter of time, really. That joint had been hanging by a thread. She struggled to speak, but it’s tricky when your jaw is detached from one side of your face. Instead, her putrid tongue flapped confusedly, like a cat’s aimless tail. Her moan diminished into a gurgle as she waved her stump in my direction. “Annie, baby,” I moaned softly, “why do you keep doing this?” I wiped away a tear. Then I picked up the broken arm, laid it gently on her stomach, and lifted her off the bed. It was a gentle task; she weighed no more than forty pounds at this point. The ligaments and skin holding her bones together had almost rotted through, however, so I had to be careful. Then I turned and walked toward the front door. I had to consciously breathe through my mouth; a powerful nasal whiff could leave me puking for several minutes while she squirmed away on the floor. I did not want to go through that again. She was too weak to protest as I threw her in the trunk, hopped in the car, then drove toward the cemetery. It was easy to find her stone, even in the dark. It was the only one, granite marker 913, with a pile of fresh, upturned loam right next to it. I sobbed. Minutes later, I was standing with my daughter once more in my arms, wanting to be anywhere on earth but there. “Please let this be the last time, Annie,” I whispered. “Please let us let you go.” A whimper escaped my lips. “I have to tell your mother that a strange man keeps digging up your grave and dragging your body into our home. I can’t tell her the truth, and I’m so alone in keeping this a secret.” I heaved a shuttering breath. “Please, let us let you go.” I kissed her forehead. Rotting, slippery flesh stuck to my lips like chapstick. Then I bent down and pushed her, gently, back into the hole. “Daddy,” she growled, finally finding her voice. She searched for me with unseeing eyes. “Daddy, I’ll come back.” I cried openly. “Please, don’t.” Then I bent down and pressed hard against her skeleton. Skin and scalp slid away from bone like soap in a hot shower. She groaned as I pushed her down, fighting back against me but too weak to show significant resistance. “I’m so sorry, Annie,” I sobbed as her collarbone snapped in response to my effort. “I’m so sorry, but please just die and leave us in hell.” Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta